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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24999124">The California Diaries</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/messier31/pseuds/LaRondine'>LaRondine (messier31)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>La Fanciulla del West | The Girl of the Golden West - Puccini/Civinini &amp; Zangarini</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Canon Compliant, Coda, Cowboys, Cowboys n Cowboyin, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, Historical Accuracy, Historical References, Missing Scene, Operafic, Operas, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, References to Attempted Rape, opera fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:09:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,258</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24999124</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/messier31/pseuds/LaRondine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>missing scenes, POVs, and other short stories based on the opera La Fanciulla del West.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dick Johnson | Ramerrez/Minnie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaronessaScarpia/gifts">BaronessaScarpia</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Notes: Based off of the Met's 2011/2018 production but compatible with any; based closely off the English translation of the libretto.</p><p>Missing scenes, POVs, and other short stories based on the opera La Fanciulla del West. I have about 20, right now, but only ~10 are finished/decent enough to be published. I will add more as they are written and edited. They do not follow any particular order or POV; a brief introduction will be added before each one for context.</p><p>[2] was incorporated into The Long Journey Home, [10] BECAME The Long Journey Home, and [15] was published individually as Portrait of a Condemned Man. </p><p>Written May 2019-present.</p><p>BaronessaScarpia, these are for you!! thank you for reading my other LFDW stories and encouraging me to publish these. If you have any ideas/prompts/recs, let me know!</p><p>xox</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Johnson’s thoughts entering the Polka in A1 [4]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Whatever he'd expected when he entered the saloon that night, it wasn't her. </p><p>It was supposed to be just another heist, just another job. </p><p>The whiskey-with-water, in addition to being his drink of choice, also served as a ploy, a reason to enter, to case out the establishment. Just another awful thing he'd learned as Ramerrez, he supposed. </p><p>The barkeep's directness was unusual but not unheard of, and he'd readily accepted the opportunity to enter the saloon. As the doors swung open, he'd put on his suit of charming arrogance- and there she was. </p><p>The girl who had stolen his heart, captured his imagination, given him strength. the girl that he had spent every spare moment, waking and not, thinking of. The girl who was the life he longed for, the future he chased, the impossible dream he never thought he'd hold. </p><p>He saw not her golden hair nor her sunshine smile, but her eyes, and the instant recognition and joy in them, and the world he knew fell apart.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 2. Nick’s thoughts after Johnson leaves in A1 [5]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had been, all things considered, a highly unusual night so far. A fight, the capture of a bandit, and not one but TWO strangers in the camp- one who had come into the Polka and had, as with many men before him, fallen for its beautiful, smiling owner.</p><p>She was flirtatious, yes, and chatty, as always. With Nick at her side, Minnie had long played that game, toying at the men's affections, creating competition and speculation amongst them. But it had always been that- a game, nothing more, the only prize more money in the till and more whiskey on the tables.</p><p>But Nick had never seen Minnie so flustered, so coy, as he'd seen her that night. She'd blushed at nearly every word the man had said, and when she'd first taken him to the side, first placed her hand on his, Nick thought he'd been dreaming, for Minnie wouldn't dare touch a man so intimately to simply take an extra tip. He'd seen her wrangle her fair share of suitors with ease, knowing when to lead them on, and most importantly, when to stop. But no- his eyes had not deceived him, when he'd re-entered to find her and the man, locked in a most intimate embrace, and he had heard clearly her offer for him to join her later. Unheard of, really, for Minnie. </p><p>Yes, there was something more to the man who called himself Johnson from Sacramento, he was sure of it, he thought as he watched the man's retreating silhouette melt into the darkness of the night.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. 3. a conversation between Minnie and Johnson sometime between A2 and A3 [6]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>warning: reference/discussion of attempted rape</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"What did he do to you?" </p><p>Her eyelids flutter for a second- just a second- and he kisses the sensitive skin on the back of her hand gently.</p><p>"Well, he grabbed me here," she says, laying her arm across her torso, and he remembers how she'd jumped the first time he'd embraced her from behind.</p><p>"And he sort of- he kissed my neck," she continues, tilting her head to reveal the delicate skin, and he remembers how she'd frozen when he'd first kissed her there.</p><p>"And he pushed me down, onto the bed," she says, and he sees the fear and hate still in her eyes, and he remembers nothing, thinks nothing, sees only her, trembling beneath Rance, fighting for her life. </p><p>"And then-" and his heart shatters, for surely the sentence will end in tragedy- "- then I pulled my rifle on him, and he was reminded exactly with whom he was dealing."  There is a quiet pride in her eyes.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. 4. Minnie’s thoughts during the poker game in A2 [7]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In poker, it's all in the gamble. Calculated risks lead to greater rewards. The most impossible stakes, the most terrible risks, run the highest reward- or the greatest loss. She has grown up with cards in her hand and gambles on her lips, a clever eye and a quick mind. Her bet has been placed: the risk, the reward, the payoff. The cards in her stocking are a loaded gun, the only promise that she has learned to rely on in the west. </p><p>The flick of the cards and the beating of her heart, and the silence of oncoming winter outside- this is a crossroads, and only one path safe. His eyes are war, hollow, aching, full of ruin and thunder. there is whiskey on his breath and lust on his lips. Blood hangs heavy in the air, an ever-present reminder of her bet. </p><p>She wishes her hands would not shake, would not tremble, but they do. She cannot deny any longer that she is afraid. And why shouldn't she be? Everything she loves, everything she holds in her heart, everything she is, is on the card table before her.</p><p>Her heart screams and her eyes burn and the game begins.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. 5. a conversation with Minnie and Johnson sometime after A3 [9]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>note: I always imagined that, instead of heading east, Minnie and Johnson might head north, to Oregon and Washington. also, this story was one of the more poetic; originally, dialogue was not indicated and nothing was capitalized. I've edited it slightly to be more coherent.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Are you sure you want to do this?” </p><p>Winter is coming. It would be safer to stay. It is dangerous to stay. </p><p>She nods her head with unbroken determination. Of course. “Of course, yes. I want nothing else.”</p><p>The journey will be long and hard. They will grow lean and hard, callused and weathered. Their bootsoles will grow thin and they will shiver, with only each other for warmth.</p><p>“We'll go, and by spring, we'll be there.”</p><p>Where? Wherever. The West has no limits. </p><p>He believes in nothing. Nothing except her and her eyes, eyes that can see possibility in broken things, dangerous things, beautiful things. Eyes that see the promise of the future, eyes that saw the truth of him.</p><p>If she says they go, they go. She knows these mountains, this land.</p><p>I would follow you to the end of the earth, and I know that you would do the same. We are in this together, he thinks, and follows her onwards.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. 6. a conversation between Minnie and Johnson sometime between A2 and A3 [11]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>originally a scene from The Long Journey Home that was cut.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They’d ridden out for an afternoon in the mountains, tying up their horses and unfurling a colorful woven blanket to lie together on. </p><p>They talked and laughed and looked for blackberries, though it was still much too early in the season. But there were flowers, whole fields of spring wildflowers, poppies and violets and lupines, and jasmine, of course jasmine. He plucked a sprig of the white, starry flowers and playfully presented them to her, just as he had on the road back from Monterey, before tucking them delicately into her golden curls. </p><p>She pulled one of the flowers off, pensively twirling it between her fingers. </p><p>“I wonder…” she started, trying to collect her thoughts. “I wonder what might have happened, should I have gone with you, that very first day.” </p><p>He said nothing, lost in his memories.</p><p>“Things might have been so different…” she trailed off, looking back at him with wide eyes. “You might not have gotten shot.”</p><p>“Yes, things might be different, but for the worse, I think.”</p><p>Confusion stole her voice, leaving her silent. How could he have been grateful for all those months that had been stolen from them by her shyness, her timidity? </p><p>He paused before continuing with quiet conviction. </p><p>“I was still a bandit when I met you, my love, and you must not forget that. If I had gone with you, if you had come with me…” His voice trailed off, just for a second. “I would have never so willingly admitted to my greatest shame, and eventually my pride would have broken your heart. You would have gone back to the Cloudy Mountains a little colder, a little wiser, a little more guarded. And I would have bitten my tongue, tried to forget you and the pain I caused, and never looked back again.”</p><p>She looked at him with sudden clarity, a new understanding coming over her. </p><p>“I paid for this life with a bullet and I would do so again in a heartbeat,” he concluded solemnly, his handsome face thoughtful and calm.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. 7. a conversation with Minnie and Johnson sometime after A3 [12]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Oh, but Minnie, you never doubted that I would come back-" He hesitated and turned to look at her. "Right?"</p><p>She was paralyzed, her heart torn between truth and love. Finally, she shook her head, a tiny, nearly imperceptible motion. But it was the truth. </p><p>"Oh, Minnie," he said, and her heart shattered. He had come back from death for her, lived for her, fought for her, and still, still she had doubted. Tears rose to her eyes, hot and shameful. </p><p>"Dick," she murmured, "oh, Dick... I'm sorry... there were times I wondered. I- I couldn't help but..." Her voice trailed off mournfully.</p><p>He took her hand, sitting down on the bed beside her.</p><p>"No, no, Minnie," he said softly, gently brushing her golden-blonde hair away from her flushed face. "I am so, so sorry. That is no fault of your own, but instead mine... It was not kind of me to leave you, and even more unjust to ask." He wiped a trailing tear from her cheek, and followed it with a soft kiss. </p><p>Another gentle brush of his calloused finger down her chin; another delicate kiss. Again on the slight ridge where her temple met her forehead. Another on the hollow of her neck, where pale collarbones met at the hand-stitched hem of her blouse. His hands rose to her head, one cupping her warm cheek, the other cradling the back of her head, and he laid her down next to him on the soft cotton sheets. </p><p>"Close your eyes," he whispered, and she half-expected him to stand up and return a moment later with some unexpected surprise. Instead, he kissed her again, slow and sweet. In the dark, she could hear only his soft breaths and the beating of her own heart. Her eyelids fluttered open again, but at his mischievous smile, she closed them again, smiling as well. He kissed the corner of her smile, pulling her face to his own. He kissed her fluttering, delicate eyelids, kissed up her cheekbones, kissed her forehead, tanned from the sun.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. 8. She [13]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>note: a bit of a deviation from the rest of the works. a short poem/musing on Minnie, from Johnson's perspective. I didn't originally plan on publishing it, but hey, it's rather sweet.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>she is not slender<br/>(but she is so strong)<br/>and her skin is not smooth as porcelain<br/>(but a lifetime of scars tell the story of resilience).<br/>she is not dainty or graceful;<br/>after six months of dancing she still steps on his toes<br/>(but oh how she laughs as he spins her around anyway).</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. 9. Minnie’s thoughts upon reuniting with Johnson at the gallows [14]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He looked truly awful.</p><p>Her heart wrenched at the bruises and cuts that scattered his face, unable to drag her gaze away from the dark purple halo around his eye, the split running down his lip, the cuts that crowned his forehead under those black curls. His eyes were dark and hollow, haunting in their lingering sadness. </p><p>But he was here, now, in her arms once more, and for a moment she put all of the pain aside, rejoicing in him simply being there, being alive, being with her. She wanted nothing more than to simply cover every inch of skin within reach with delicate kisses-- to cover the weeks of hurt with her love. </p><p>She held him close, pressing his abused body into her own, longing for contact-- the brush of his cheek, the press of his forehead into her own. And though the world shifted and crashed like a wayward storm below them, for a precious second, there was only them-- her and him-- Minnie and Johnson. Even when her breath ran out and her heart pounded and she was forced to drag herself away from him and face the reality below, even then she kept a hand on his bound wrists, if only to prove to herself if none else that he was there, that he was real, that he could not disappear again. </p><p>And when she poured her heart out, bearing her very soul to the men in a plea for his life, he was there still, like her shadow, quiet but loyal. When she leaned into his embrace, he leaned forward to embrace her. Two parts, united in one. Finally. When at last she removed the noose, she felt as if she were melting when, at long last, he kissed her, his hands fighting against their bonds to stoke her face with the utmost tenderness. Her hands never leaving him, his chest, his arm, his hands in hers once more.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. 10. Johnson’s thoughts after the kiss in A2 [16]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He had always thought himself a rational man. Doing what was sensible for himself, for his family, for the world he lived in. When his father had died and bestowed him the title Ramerrez, the great and feared bandit, he had taken the burden with stoicism and composure. It was what was best for his family, for his grieving mother and brothers and sisters and their children. It was what was needed. </p><p>There had been Michaeltorena, with all of her beads and alluring, fluttering eyelashes. But by then he had met her, and the terrible series of events that would lead to his end as Ramerrez had already been set into motion. His heart was struck, captured by the beautiful golden girl he'd met on the road from Monterey, who'd promised they'd meet again. And so Nina's charm had no effect on him. He'd thought himself smart then, clever and rational and sensible for avoiding the wiles of the dark, crafty girl. It was much simpler than that. </p><p>When he entered the Polka that fateful his mind had split-- rational and not-- and he watched as the whole plan fell apart. He watched as every rational thought fell from his mind, every sense of duty to his gang and his name, every plan and plot abandoned as he realized his heart would never let him hurt her. </p><p>He watched himself fall hopelessly, terribly, irrevocably in love with her. </p><p>Watched himself stumble over the edge, slowly and slowly and then all at once, desperately trying to balance his mind with his heart. He'd followed his heart to her cabin, letting his heart talk while his mind warned him of the danger he was in, while his mind constantly checked her windows for danger and kept his revolver in its holster. When his heart had asked her for a kiss, he knew that he was in too deep now, that this was the point of no return, the point where nothing could ever be the same. For if he kissed her, he would never be able to stop, never be able to leave her side, adoring and devoted and wholly loving.</p><p>And though his mind warned him, and told him to stop, and told him it was wrong, his heart pushed everything aside as their mouths tentatively met, hesitant and scared at first, and then everything all at once, and he felt her in his arms, warm and strong and beautiful, and knew that he had made his choice.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. 11. a conversation with Minnie and Sonora at the Polka [20]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I definitely had a very confusing timeline worked out for lfdw that I based my other stories on; essentially, Minnie meets Johnson in the spring in Monterey, is reunited with him that fall for acts 1 and 2, and the act 3 happens the following spring. this story is based off that, that all of the events in the opera from their very first meeting happen in about a year. this would be Minnie's thoughts right before she leaves for Monterey.</p><p>here's a little convo between Minnie and Sonora, I love their friendship and I wish they got more time together in the opera! the role Sonora plays in act 3, in Johnson's capture and subsequent freedom, is so beautiful and sweet. you really get the sense of his loyalty to Minnie.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Spring came to California in an explosive fashion: a sudden wave of brilliant wildflowers, brought to life after the long, cold mountain winters by the near-daily thunderstorms that so often raged outside her cozy little cabin.</p><p>Today, however, was bright and clear, the sky cloudless and blue, a shocking contrast to the lush orange and purple flowers that dotted the lush green meadows outside town, the whole picture silhouetted by the rolling, lumbering mountains.</p><p>At the bar of the Polka, Minnie worked leisurely cleaning glasses; it was still early, the spring sun still shining through the late afternoon. In the far corner, men were playing baccarat, and she listened comfortably to their laughter, shouts, and groans of dismay as money and cards shuffled hands. </p><p>She hoped the mild weather would hold, for she left for Monterey tomorrow, a journey of several days on horse. </p><p>Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Sonora approached her, tugging his beard thoughtfully. Though he made no secret of his affections, Minnie could tell he had not come to flirt; there was a seriousness to his demeanor that roused her curiosity. Tall, handsome, and a natural leader, Sonora often spoke on behalf of his fellow miners. Minnie regarded him not as a friend, but as family; they had known each other for many years, nearly as many as she'd lived in the Cloudy Mountains. </p><p>"Minnie," he said with the quiet gruffness that always made her smile, "may I speak to you in confidence? As two friends?" </p><p>His intentions clear, he waited for her answer. She nodded quickly. "Of course, Sonora, always. What's on your mind?"</p><p>He sighed, looking not at her, but around the room. "The men look up to me, not only as their brother and one of their own, but as their leader, yes?" he asked. </p><p>"Very much so."</p><p>He sunk his head into his hands. "Oh, Minnie. I feel that I can't continue to stay without being dishonest. If you asked me if I believe in the gold beneath our feet, I could not truthfully say I did. And yet each morning still they follow me out into those mountains... One word and I could end it all, and we could all go back to our families, our homes, our people. They look to me for advice, and I continue to tell them a beautiful lie."</p><p>It was Minnie's turn to sigh. She poured him a shot of whiskey, and he swirled it between his fingers as she thought. Their hopes kept her doors open, yes, but the compassion in her heart outweighed any thoughts of money or gain she might have had. These were her brothers, just as they were his. </p><p>She felt herself unconsciously naming each man in her mind as her eyes roved the room, naming them as old friends. Jake, Sid, Harry, Trin, more joining their little family every week. Would it hurt to hope just a little bit more? To hold on a little bit longer? </p><p>"Give it six more months, Sonora. Your luck could change sooner than you know," she said. His mouth twisted thoughtfully, though he said nothing. "Give it six months, give it a year."</p><p>Indeed, with the infectious hope that spring brought, to keep trying seemed like the only option. She smiled warmly as another group of miners came in, bright spring light spilling into the Polka. She'd open the big windows as soon as they finished talking, she decided. </p><p>He, too, was watching the miners, and she felt as though she could almost see the process of thought in his mind; he was a logical man, rarely guided by emotion--unless it came to her-- and she watched him carefully weigh the pros and cons of her statement. Finally, he nodded, eyes watching the same auspicious spring day before them.</p><p>"Thank you, Minnie. You've no idea how much I value your counsel."</p><p>She patted his hand lightly, already thinking of the excitement of her trip to Monterey once more. "So much can change in a year."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I probably won't be updating this little series as much; lfdw will always have a corner of my heart, but in terms of writing I've moved on to some other projects. stay tuned!!! </p><p>BaronessaScarpia, thank you *SO* much for your undying love and support. I'd give you the stars! </p><p>xox la rondine</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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